


The Scorpion and the Frog

by HPendle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1970s, 1990s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternating Timelines, Angst, Doomed Relationship, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Marauders' Era, Past Relationship(s), Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Second War with Voldemort, Severus Snape Lives, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:59:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPendle/pseuds/HPendle
Summary: In August 1995, Severus' estranged wife comes back into his life with ulterior motives. By 2008, she will have been dead for ten years, and he'll be about to celebrate his third wedding anniversary with Hermione; but she's not sure things are alright between them. It goes without saying that a lot can happen, and does happen, in the span of thirty-three years.[canon-divergent; begins in OOTP; rating & tags will change as story progresses; warnings apply for later chapters]





	1. Prologue

**Hogwarts Castle; October 23rd, 1999**

 

Severus was sitting at his desk, in the middle of his private Potions laboratory. A part of him was very tempted to destroy it, to break every last bottle and set fire to it all - he could have very well gotten away with it mostly unharmed, he believed, what with all the wards and the precautions the castle took to survive - but knew that would mean wasting plenty of useful and expensive work material, invoking Minerva's rage, and causing Filch to complain.

He wasn't sure what, out of all of that, would be the worst thing to deal with. But he also was in no mood to find out.

It was a while before he noticed that the knuckles on his right hand were caked with dry blood and what looked like very small slivers and splinters of stone. Whatever he'd done with that hand hurt, and it hurt a lot now that he was looking at it. He dragged himself to the sink to clean the wounds. It would be no use to just dunk his hand in a bowl full of Murtlap essence if the wounds weren't cleaned first. 

He acted and moved out of habit, following the method explained in many books and perfected by him, following the methods and reasoning that had been his modus vivendi between wars. In practice and at that very moment, though, he couldn't give a fucking toss if his hand fell off, or if Minerva sacked him, or if throwing what was essentially a tantrum burned the entire castle to the ground. 

He wished he had never been to Azkaban. He wished he had never listened to Minerva in the first place. He winced when the hot water touched his skin. Merlin's sagging ballsack, it had been over a year after Dorcas' death, and she was still coming up with new ways to continue fucking him over from beyond the Veil.

 

* * *

 

 

**December 10th, 2008**

 

It was the first time Severus Tobias Snape left the British Isles, so of course, the destination needed to be immemorable; and the motives behind his travels, tragic. 

“You know,” the woman walking next to him said, “I didn’t expect snow to fall in Texas! True, it’s nothing like we get back at Hogwarts, but that’s Scotland, and that is so much farther up North than here,” she waved her free arm around, signaling the  _here_ : submerged in darkness of the snowy night, somewhere in the darkness of Houston, Texas. Her other arm was linked with Severus’ as they walked with her small hand holding his to steady herself, their fingers linked, and also because she loved him dearly and was quite fond of clinging to him as they walked.

He smiled to himself as she continued talking about the unexpected and soft snowfall, and what she’d always imagined Texas weather to be like from all the relevant Muggle media she absorbed throughout the years, and  _oh, Teddy would just love to be here, wouldn’t he, sweetheart, Teddy does love snow so!_ , talking away absentmindedly and out of habit, not really expecting or even needing a reply from her husband. Their gloved fingers were linked together and his thumb ran over hers, absentmindedly and out of habit. 

Of course Hermione Jean Snape, his wife of three years (in exactly eighteen days), would go on about the weather when faced with the uncomfortable silences that running painful errands would bring. Severus wondered that it could very well be that his wife's behaviour was so endearing to him after their earlier, more irritating interactions with Americans. Only the soft strokes of Hermione’s thumb up and down the back of his hand had kept him from hexing a nosy and overbearing Muggle waitress when she asked question after sodding, drawled out question: 

 _So where y’all from?, what’s the weather like over there?, y’all get a lot of snow this time of the year?, do all your men over there in London wear their hair like that, then?_  – here, it was a firm squeeze of Hermione’s hand on Severus’ wand hand her more polite and discreet way of silently saying “we will  **not**  be hexing anyone, in public or otherwise, Severus.” 

One question more, and she would have had to use actual telepathic screaming his full name to keep him from creating an international Wizarding incident in the middle of a diner.

The air around them was quiet again. Hermione had stopped speaking, and the only sound was the soft crunch of their soles on the slightly snowed-on ground as they walked. She looked up at her husband, feelings of fear and nervousness brewing inside her. He had changed plenty since her days as his student, and even more on the years after she'd left Hogwarts.

He no longer had greasy black hair hanging down to his shoulders, curtain-like: it had been some years after an incident with an electric Muggle shaver, but he wore his hair in short crop now. She found it funny and endearing how the salt-and-pepper that flecked his hair, showing clear signs it was due to turn silver in a few years much like the stubble on his face, was so localised in patches at the front. He would moan that he looked like a skunk, or worse: a badger; she found the way he slowly greyed quite dignified and very attractive, but would never say it out loud outside their home. 

But the more important and noticeable changes had come in the form of the fortnightly trips to the pub with Harry and George, and how he now took care to have his pockets full of sweets if he knew they would be seeing her friends' - their friends' - children. He was still sarcastic, curmudgeonly, excessively formal for a man of his background, and preferred mostly the company of his wife and their two familiars, Hades and Eris. The order of whose company he preferred the most out of those three was not important. 

Hermione wasn't the same person she had been before all of this, either. She liked to think fighting a war so young had given her a different perspective on life without changing her true essence; and for the most part, that had been true. But lately, she had taken to wondering just how badly damaged she had been by the events of those three years of war, and the ten that followed. The last year, she had been absorbed by thoughts that something was seriously wrong in her marriage, with them as a couple, with her - and acted on the impulse that she thought would give them the clarity to know what choices to make next.

"I think this is the place," Severus' voice brought her out of her thoughts. They stood in front of a low red and white brick wall that read  **Memorial Bend**. "What did Delia tell you to look for?"

"She said she would enchant a used drink can, but I can't see anything." They assumed that if there was a need to use a Portkey, they must be in a predominantly Muggle zone, and didn't want to chance using their wands. The streetlights would have to do. 

"Found it," Severus pointed to an empty soda can lying closer to the curb than he would have liked and added, "at the very least I hope I have."

"We're doing this, then." Her eyes looked sad but determined as she held out her hand. He took her hand with a small smile.

"Worst case scenario, we're only fondling street litter while we hold hands." Hermione chuckled softly. He could be so very fastidious.

"Very well then. On my count ..."

Hermione counted to three. Not letting go of each others' hands, they touched the crumpled can and Hermione felt slightly sick when they felt the familiar tug at the navel and the feeling of the ground opening under them. It took her a few minutes to stop retching. Traveling through Portkey was the one thing she could never get used to, she had decided.

Heart thumping in their throats and straighter backs even if still quite dizzy, they cast a Wand-Lighting Charm to try and find their way around the graveyard. Severus looked at the rows of simple crosses, simple headstones, names of local American wizards with mostly long lives, before finally finding what they were looking for: a wizard and a witch with a much shorter lifespan etched on ther gravestones - fifty and thirty-eight, respectively - than the rest.

There were empty plots with plain gravestones next to Master and Madame Goulding's graves: plot that had been meant for their children and grandchildren they would never live to see. Severus waved his wand once, and an inscription appeared:

 

DORCAS MARIELLA GOULDING

BELOVED DAUGHTER

1960 - 1998

 

They were shivering in the middle of the graveyard. He had to smile at his wife's gesture of conjuring a small arrangement of pink carnations, which she gingerly placed at the foot of Dorcas' grave. He fished out from his pocket what looked like a silver bullet. " _Engorgio_ ," he aimed his wand so the spell would reveal the odd, weirdly oblong-shaped piece of metal's true size and nature: an unadorned pewter urn that contained his dead wife's ashes. 

Hermione had only seen it once before, when they were packing up and cleaning Spinner's End years ago. It had a thick coat of dust and was badly banged on one side.  _Severus must have cleaned it before coming here_ , she realised, because she noticed the clean look of it had also restored it to its smooth, polished state - which made that dent stand out all the more.

"Are you ready?" she whispered. He nodded, unscrewing the lid after Hermione held the urn. It was heavier and more cumbersome than it looked. The thought that he would have to correct the inscription on the graves before they left crossed his mind ever so briefly.

It had been a good number of years of friendship between Hermione and Severus before love blossomed. One of the things she knew she would have to come to accept, once they were together, was the fact that it would have been damn unreasonable of her to expect the man to have kept himself from all notion of love for forty-four years.  After all, she had set him up on the odd blind date or two when they were friends, and he'd been there to offer his shoulder to cry on whenever any of her romantic relationships failed. It would have been unhealthy if she held his need for companionship against him.  

But the feeling that had been gnawing at her ankles for the past four-and-so years came to a head as they boarded the plane in Heathrow. Lily Potter might have been his North Star, but everyone knew he accepted she was gone. At some point after his near-death in the Shack during the Battle, he had suddenly let go of that lost Lenore. Things between the childhood friends had been simple: Severus had loved Lily, Lily never reciprocated those feelings. But it wasn't the same with Dorcas. Hermione had always known that.

Dorcas had been his wife for almost eighteen years. And, while both women had left legacies that reverberated still, Lily's memory was a doe Patronus; whereas Dorcas, the dark cloud that sometimes still rumbled with thunder. She was still able to somehow continue creating chaos in Severus' life from beyond the grave, as if she hadn't had enough of that while she was still alive.

As they prepared to spread Dorcas' ashes on her family's plot, Hermione found herself praying that a last act of kindness to a woman she only wanted to think of as "incredibly complex" would bring her peace. Maybe then, she thought - desperately hoped, even -,  Severus would finally be able to live in peace.

A part of Hermione was afraid that this would be, in a way, the end of the cycle for them. After all, their history together had started in very similar circumstances and on a very similar day.


	2. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1995, Dumbledore persuades Severus' estranged wife to join the Order of the Phoenix. In 1998, we learn that the end of the war might not be the happily ever after that most hoped for.

**Hogwarts Castle; June 30th, 1995**

 

"I received your fucking letter, what do you want?" The Headmaster's fireplace shone with a burst of green flames for a few seconds, before dying out. 

A small woman with light brown hair down to her elbows had taken their place. She walked towards Albus with long, angry strides; her smart black robes and angry face making her look like a very small panther that was just about to lunge at her prey's throat.

"Welcome back, sweet girl! I see my owl got to you just in time before I changed my password," Albus Dumbledore stood up to greet the small woman clad in formal black robes with arms wide open. His smile was the calm, happy smile of a proud father looking at his child.

"Over a fucking owl, Professor? Seriously?" It would have been a bit much to say that she returned the Headmaster's sentiment. "You couldn't go to my office and ask me in person, when I'm in town? The Floo Network's going international now, you know," she dusted soot from the Floo powder and his fireplace with a grimace. Her robes were the pitch-black of new fabric, there was no way to palm all the soot off. She would have to change out of them and wash them.

"Ah, yes, I remember this. Your father had something to do with that, if I recall correctly," he chuckled to himself and sat back on his chair. "I had to make sure you came of your own free will, Dorcas," there was a hint of an apology in his voice, now softer. "For all I know, you could have changed your allegiance already."

Dorcas shook her head. "You would know by now if I had been … there."

"That is true. But, then again, you know how Tom is when it comes to his female followers. Besides, Harry could have missed a person or two. It was quite the exciting night, all around," the ageing wizard said grimly. "Please have a seat, dear, there is plenty for us to discuss." 

"I only came here to tell you in person that I can't do this again. I can't help you, and I am not sorry about that," her body posture spoke of strength and resolution. He quickly picked up a waver of doubt in her voice. It was just what he needed.

"Help us with what, Dorcas? Help us save several innocent lives? Help us defeat the Dark Lord - for good, this time?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." She sighed, arms crossed over her chest. "Even if I could - even if I wanted to do it - there's no way Severus will agree to this." 

"Let me worry about that. I will handle Severus," he took the seat next to her and placed a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Right. Because Severus Snape can be handled. That's gone well every time anyone has tried, and I had the best experience with that shit," she scoffed. There was a pause in which she seemed to soften into less of a panther and more of a scared house cat.

"You have to understand that if I come back … " Her arms were now wrapped tightly around herself, as if she would fall apart if she let her arms relax even slightly. "He has every right to be angry with me. He has every right to not want to take me back or even agree to living with me again. I won't fight him if he chooses not to. I want to help you, I really do, but I'm not sure how badly things would be affected if Sevs doesn't want anything to do with me," she sighed, eyes lost in the distance.

Albus nodded. "True," he chose his words carefully, faking a look of pensiveness, "but there is still so much you can do for the Order without having to resort to going back to Severus. After all, the mission assigned to him is quite ... tailored to his situation. If he decides his pride is more important than our mission, or than the twenty years shared between you, then that is his foolishness. But don't let that man's foolishness become yours, my girl."

They sat in silence, looking at the mountain range outside his window. When she finally spoke again, Albus held back a smile because he knew he had hit the nail on the head. Convincing Dorcas had been much easier than he'd initially anticipated - that is, if old sentimentalities hadn't lured her back and made the decision for her. He knew the girl well enough to know, though, that her mind was as good as made.

"We would have to sort this … mission … through the appropriate channels, you know. And there's living arrangements to be considered if - if!, there could be more pressing needs in my current position - I'm allowed to leave it and come back. I need at least a week to make up my mind before I ask, and another week to cover my tracks if they'll allow it."

"Does this mean you'll do it? Would you help the Order with one last mission and defeat him?"

"Against all better judgement," she smiled weakly and squeezed his hand before he helped her to her feet.

"There is room for you here in the castle while you sort something more permanent. I know Minerva would be thrilled to have you here."

The years of stiffness and distance between them melted away as soon as they shook hands, and they hugged tightly, as long-time friends do. "I wish it was under different circumstances, dear girl, but I do have to admit it makes me happy to see you again," he kissed the top of her head, his blue eyes filled with happy tears.

"I am happy to see you too, Albus," she kissed his cheek gently before conjuring flames that lit the Headmaster's fireplace. She threw a fistful of Floo Powder and disappeared after the second burst of green flames died out.

Albus looked at the empty fireplace with some heaviness. Not without a shred of humour, he realised that his time as Supreme Mugwump had not, in any way, qualified or even prepared him to mediate between bitterly estranged spouses - especially, when the spouse with the grudge was none other than Severus Snape. 

He had the feeling the next couple of months were going to be quite the intensive exercise in diplomacy.

  

* * *

 

  

**Godric's Hollow; December 23rd, 1998**

 

The decision was made three months after the end of the Second Wizarding War, brought on by the death of the Dark Lord in the Battle of Hogwarts.

A post-war reconstruction council of sorts had formed in now Headmistress McGonagall's offices on May 3rd, the day after the battle. It had been very small at first: just Minerva, Aberforth Dumbledore, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hagrid, Molly and Arthur Weasley, the Golden Trio, and Dumbledore's portrait. Severus Snape was lying in a bed in St. Mungo's between life and death. Every day they spent in the Headmistress' office they held their breath, dreading the possibility that the sacked-in-disgrace-but-not-really Headmaster's portrait would join Dumbledore's. 

The first few days were for decompressing. There were tears - joyous over their victory, fearful of the rise of another threat, mourning their fallen. Funeral arrangements were made, the bodies buried, and their dead mourned. Baby Teddy Lupin was bounced on every knee as they gathered around the fire to share memories of the Lupins, Colin Creevey, Sirius Black, and Fred Weasley over platters of sandwiches and goblets of elf-made wine no one seemed to want or be able to touch.

By the end of the first month, all the fallen had been given their rightful ceremonial last rites and several of the former Order members, headed by Ron Weasley, requested some time to continue coming to terms with the events of the last three years; Hermione Granger had left for Australia the week after Colin Creevey's funeral to search for her parents.

As the weeks went by and the plans for rebuilding Hogwarts and the British Wizarding society were slowly put in motion, both Kingsley and Minerva realised that the presence of too many civilians from Hogsmeade and surrounding villages - magic-aware Muggles and wizards alike - that had contributed to the Order's efforts to win the war were unaccounted for. Even more worrying was the fact that some Order and undercover Ministry agents weren’t listed as casualties of the war but had seemed to vanish, at some point or other, and were yet to be heard from.

It was on Minerva’s insistence that a memorial service for fallen Order members and allies were held only after the last of the missing had been found, alive or otherwise, for a memorial service for their fallen simply couldn’t be held without them. Even those who were most tired of crying, the Weasleys and Andromeda Tonks among them, agreed with her: and so, Kingsley Shacklebolt, now the acting Minister of Magic, tapped into the Ministry's resources to look for those missing in action.

*******

Tamsin Gardiner, a Gifted former Unspeakable and close friend of Kingsley's, would offer her services a week before the school year was about to start. It took her several Scrying sessions, nosebleeds, and bottles of Draughts for Dreamless Sleep post-Seeing, to finally find the last of them.

Minerva gritted her teeth as Tamsin prepared to tap into her Gift. Long face bent over the surface of a silver bowl full of water, she whispered an incantation inaudible to her audience. They were absorbed even if this wasn’t the first time they witnessed one of her Scrying sessions, even as a small pit of dread opened in Harry’s stomach as he watched Tamsin’s full lips move quickly and softly, asking the spirits in a long-dead language to be allowed to Find. After a few minutes, her lips stopped moving and her eyelids closed.

After a few minutes, her eyes opened again. Minerva's stomach sank: they weren't Tamsin's warm amber eyes, or the unfocused pupil-less murky grey that had preceded finding Hestia Jones' and Isla Westenberg's hiding places, as well as Alastor Moody's and Florean Fortescue's Transfigured remains and where they had been hidden by the Death Eaters.

Tamsin's movements became eerily mechanical, much like those of an old puppet. Her eyes were fully white and wide open as if something forced them to. The same invisible force appeared to grab Tamsin-the-Puppet firmly by the chin and swung her head back, mouth wide open in rasping breathing.

It was November 1st, the day the Veil between the realms would be at its thinnest. Minerva realised Tamsin wasn’t Seeing – she was Channelling, and that could only mean the very worst. 

With the same expressionless face, Tamsin-the-Puppet began her functions as a vessel for the voice of the Dead. Minerva and Kingsley watched in horror as they saw the last minutes of Emmeline's life being played for them through Tamsin-the-Puppet. There was a warm goodbye to a friend and a polite apology to a stranger she had bumped into. Suddenly, her voice filled with fear when she realised it was Dolohov she had bumped into - Yaxley and Avery twisting her arms. Emmeline fought and demanded to be let go, reminded her captors that they wouldn't get away with this, that they were put away once and would be put away again - 

And then, after many blood-curdling screams, there were several minutes of gurgling and groaning. The silence that followed them was not welcome. 

Only violent and unexpected deaths could leave any kind of imprint, at all. Emmeline Vance had left a very strong imprint.  

It took Tamsin a couple of hours to recover completely. With tears in her now amber eyes, she squeezed Minerva's hand and began slowly talking. Her voice was rough from screaming, but it was  _her_  voice again. "I saw it happen, Minerva."

"What did you see, Tamsin?" Tamsin sobbed as she recalled the torture and murder, through Emmeline's eyes and voice from beyond the Veil, as she had unwittingly re-enacted. The body had been Transfigured and hidden away right under everyone's noses.

A murder so public Muggle media had noticed, and yet they had managed to keep Emmeline's body hidden for two years even from the rest of the Death Eaters. The Ministry had raided the former Death Eater safe houses so many times - Spinner's End, Malfoy Manor, the Lestrange estates - how could they have managed?

“I’m so sorry, Minerva,” Tamsin whispered softly. With a small nod, Minerva left the hospital wing to let the Seer recover. In private, she told Kingsley he would have to tell the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that Malfoy Manor needed to be searched for a single femur in a rucksack: Emmeline's Transfigured remains.

“Not a word of the … details of this event to Emmeline's family,” a pained look appeared on her weathered face as they said their goodbyes, “at least not for now.”

*******

The Wizengamot held Severus' trial  _in absentia_  while he was recovering in St. Mungo's. His case greatly helped by the memories they had gathered when he nearly died in the Shack, the Order was able to make a case strong enough to get every charge against him dismissed. Severus Snape's name and reputation were cleaned and restored - by Harry Potter, of all people - long before he finally opened his eyes.

He woke up the 15th of July, and the next day, he was considered alert and strong enough to be told of his wife’s death in battle. It was now the 23rd of December, and he still wished he hadn’t woken up at all.

The memorial was held on the first day of the winter break, in the cemetery of Hogsmeade. Afterwards, some Order members travelled through the Headmistress' fireplace to Potter's recently rebuilt cottage in Godric's Hollow.

Harry found Severus sitting in the small room where he decided to build his study. He didn't have much use for it, in practice - he was too busy and exhausted, what with starting his Auror training, to even stay overnight in the recently rebuilt cottage -, so he was all too happy that someone was getting some use of it. Even if the person was a curmudgeon nearing his forties who didn't want to socialise with fellow war heroes, and the people who loved them. 

“You look better,” the younger wizard’s hand squeezed his shoulder affectionately and handed him a drink. It was still very strange for them and even stranger for anyone who witnessed it, but Harry had grown to respect and care for Severus; and Severus, in turn, appeared to tolerate Harry's presence without grimacing so much.

“Barely anyone in the Order - well, the younger members, at least - knew you were married before she … you know,  _came back_ ,” Harry whispered as if to protect Snape’s privacy. It would have been hard for anyone else to overhear them because of the Silencing Charms in place.

“Wasn’t exactly the kind of marriage you publish around on the Prophet, Potter, if you recall,” he smirked into his wine. Harry nodded, and knew that was all he was going to get from Severus that night. Definitely, it was an improvement over a sneer or a hiss.

The door opened and a small person scurried in, shutting the door behind her as quickly as she came in. Hermione’s facial expression quickly changed from tiredness to embarrassment when she realised the study was taken as a hiding place. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t know you were using the study, Harry – the evening’s just gotten a bit much,” she whispered breathlessly. “I’ll just go back to the guest room and hide there, I’ll leave you alone now - ” 

"'S alright, Mione," Potter was quick to stand up and scoop his friend in an excessively tight and affectionate hug. It was the first time they'd seen each other since she left for Australia. "You hide here all you want, let me get you something to eat."

"Thank you, Harry," she squeezed her friend's hand softly before he snuck out. It looked to Severus as if she had been waiting for Potter to leave before she let out a shuddering sigh, collapsing into the loveseat opposite him with her face buried in her hands. 

Severus had seen her standing with the Weasleys, across the field from him and Minerva, holding Ronald's hand and wiping her face with a hanky from time to time throughout the memorial. They had barely shared more than pleasantries during term time, but he had noticed she was no longer the overeager swot with her hand always in the air. He wondered if the gossip that had been making its rounds around the teachers' staff room and classrooms at Hogwarts carried some truth, that she hadn't been able to find her parents yet.

And then, he heard another soft shudder coming from her direction: she was crying as silently as she could manage but her breathing gave her away. He couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her. 

He didn't know what to do. He knew he owed Ronald, Harry, and Hermione a life debt for saving his life that night in the Shrieking Shack; but he was also keenly aware that even considering his childhood traumas and long-time position as Dumbledore's spy and a double agent, he had behaved like a massive bellend for the first six years he was their teacher.

All things considered, this particular situation was quite awkward for him. 

The cantankerous, overgrown bat stood up, walked to her, cleared his throat, and worked up the courage to ask, "Is everything fine, Miss Granger?"

Her face went pale when she realised the Potions master and former Headmaster was also in the room. It only made her puffy, bloodshot eyes stand out more. "All's well. You look well, Professor," she offered a small smile, nodding and moving so he could take the seat next to her.

"You are a terrible liar, Miss Granger, " he smiled politely. "But thanks. I've been meaning to thank you for this, by the way," he pointed at the thick purple web of scarred skin that covered the better part of his neck and shoulder, framing the right side of his jawline and earlobe, as well. That was enough for the colour to return to her face. 

"I am so, so sorry, Professor - " she was interrupted by a dismissive wave of his hands. 

"Miss Granger, please. There really is no need to apologise. What you and your friends did that night saved my life," he replied in what he hoped was a reassuring, convincing voice. He wasn't entirely convinced that was a good thing, himself. For the better part of the next five years, he would remain unconvinced about that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**12 Grimmauld Place; August 1st, 1995**

 

Severus glided out of the kitchen and calmly made his way to the entrance after a curt goodbye. Inside, he was howling - how  _dare_ Dumbledore? How dare him spring this on him so suddenly? He knew - he had been there for it, he had  **seen**  what he had done to him, how much she had made him suffer! And after all he'd been through - spying for a murderous psychopath, the death of the love of his life, the Wizengamot trials, being sent back to the Dark Lord as a spy again -, after all the years of loyalty and risking his life for a trio of snot-nosed dimwits, and babysitting the werewolf, didn't he at least deserve a warning? A heads up? A fucking owl, surely? 

He could just see the letter he would have written, with the amount of tact the damned man had when it came to him:

" _Dear Severus, thank you for shaking hands with Sirius fucking Black. When you're done becoming best mates with him, you have to go back to polishing Voldemort's boots and backside with your tongue. Oh by the way, guess who's decided to come back? Here, some clues: she's yea-high, has a well-earned reputation for sleeping around, and left you not long after Voldemort's first fall. Any idea who she might be?_ "

The dusty trinkets on the mantlepiece trembled with his magick, which was getting increasingly out of control.

He tamed the growl he felt bubbling up inside him, threatening to leave his chest through his throat. _That has always been the way with Albus. You know the man enough not to expect considerations from him. Control yourself, Severus,_ taking in a deep breath slowly steadied him _, and don't give him - or that **cunt** \- the satisfaction._

The hand that grabbed his wrist felt like hot coals that snapped him back to reality. He pulled away quickly and made the mistake to turn around, because he knew who it was as soon as she touched him.

The freckled woman in front of him had her arms crossed in front of her chest, and her eyes boring into him. She sighed with mock exasperation but was given away by the playful smirk in the curve of her soft, thin lips.

"Oh, come on, Sevs. Are you really not going to say hello to your wife?"


	3. Twenty Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1975, Severus meets a girl named Dorcas. In 1995, the now-woman named Dorcas comes back into his life, and he's not happy about it.

 

* * *

 

**12 Grimmauld Place; August 1st, 1995**

Once upon a time, Severus Snape had been a married man. Then, one day, he woke up to the fact that his wife had left him.

Ever since that morning, many questions plagued him. Why did she leave? Where did she go? Should he look for her? Was it something he did? Should he try to make amends, if he could find her? Was there someone else involved? Who was he?

The first couple of years, he obsessed over every possible answer to each and every question he had. The morning he took off his wedding band, the questions stopped burning holes in his mind and life carried on.

Then, one afternoon, he opened a door inside 12 Grimmauld Place and she was there. That afternoon, twenty years of secrets started uncoiling slowly, but surely, in front of him.

"Oh, come on, Sevs. Are you really not going to say hello to your wife?"

"Forgive my rudeness, please," his heavy drawl dripped with nastiness, in direct contrast to the gentleness which he bowed and took her hand to kiss it. "It becomes hard to recognise your wife when it's the first time you've seen her in … how long has it been since you left? _Thirteen years_?" Not breaking eye contact, he planted a dry kiss on the knuckles of her left hand. "I can see you're not wearing your ring, either."

"Neither are you, sweetheart, and I remembered how much you like it when we match," she talked back with a coquettish note in her voice and instantly regretted it having done so.

The rising hostility showing in his posture made her drop the act instantly. If time and convivence had taught her anything all those years ago was that Severus Snape was **_not_** the type of man who would respond to her flirting once he had been provoked into anger.

Severus scowled and he could feel his nostrils tremble as they flared when he drew in a deep, sharp breath. 

"Wouldn't want the students at Hogwarts talking about the faculty's private life, now would we, _Dorcas_?" she flinched. The name as it came from his lips was the proverbial - and, if you asked anyone who knew about their history, well-earned -  hand smacking her hard across the face.

"Sevs, not here, sweetheart - "

"Don't you _dare_ call me that," all calm was leaving his body. "You left me and you didn't even bother leaving so much as a note - "

"Not here, Sevs," she interrupted him with an increasingly pleading voice. 

"Without telling me, or _anyone,_ where you went - "

"Severus, please!"

"But you told Albus you were leaving me, _him_ you could tell - " his anger and hurt were getting the best of him now. The soothing voice inside his head was now a commanding scream - _control yourself, Severus_.

" _Not here_!" she hissed as quietly as she could, glancing around them. "And please calm the fuck down, would you? You're making a scene." He already had, _thankyouverymuch_ , but her pleas stoked his anger ablaze all over again. 

"Oh, but _sweetheart_ ," his crooked teeth formed into a grin that was no less menacing, "do you honestly believe no one else noticed your absence, then?" He could see his words were having the desired effect on her. Her thin lips were pressed together in a tight line, eyes cast down, and her arms pressed tighter against her chest: he had hit a very, very raw nerve.

 _Good_ , he thought smugly. If it was in her plans to come back - for good, for a while, he didn't care which one it would be - then this Frankenstein would have to learn to live with the monster that was her own creation.

"Not here," she said firmly. "Look, if you want to talk about what happened - "

"Who says I do?" He had a small smile and a raised eyebrow. Gaining the upper hand in their argument had considerably calmed him down.

"You need to give me a chance to at the very least explain things, Sevs - "

"You do not get to call me that anymore. It's _Professor_ Snape to you now, my dear. And you might want to check yourself before you go. Make yourself look a tad more presentable, will you? Your appearance is slipping … _Dorcas_ ," he savoured at how she recoiled when she heard her name as he left the newly minted headquarters for the Order, billowing robes behind him.

Dorcas braced herself as much as she could but still flinched when the door slammed behind him. She raked her hands through her hair with a sigh, turning to go back to the drawing room where Albus Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt waited for her when she caught a glance of herself in the mirror. Dorcas chuckled darkly to herself as she realised that, indeed, she needed to work on her presentation.

How she absolutely loathed to admit her husband was right. She ran a hand through her hair huffing and thinking she would have to fix that before she left. With any luck, she would be back in that wretched dungeon soon.

* * *

 

 

**Hogwarts Express; September 1st, 1975**

 

“Hello there, I’m Dorcas,” the freckled blonde that plopped on the empty seat next to him had a wide grin, an annoyingly peppy voice, and a hand ready to shake his. “So!, what are we reading?”

Severus scowled at the intrusion, but the pretty girl seemed to not mind or care. Instead of being put off by the morose boy, she clicked her tongue and tilted her head at the book. "My, we're busy, aren't we? Is it any good then?" 

"Who sent you?" he drawled with feigned uninterest as he changed the page in his book, never looking up.  He could smell her confusion and knew fully well he was in no position to chase away female company, but this book was a good book - he would much rather keep the act up to get rid of her and fast so he could go back to it. 

"What are you talking about? Why would anyone send me?" She looked genuinely confused.

"Was it Potter?" his voice dripped boredom, "Or was it one of the member of his coterie?"

"Who's Potter?" Severus sighed in exasperation and closed his book.

"That one," he pointed at the lanky, messy-haired boy that passed outside his compartment _. Perfect timing_ , Severus thought bitterly. It lasted for a split second, but Dorcas could see the look of hatred they shared before James called out, "Sirius! Moony!" and disappeared.

"Oh, him," she muttered in a faraway voice, "so that one's Potter, then. And who are you?"

"No one someone like _you_ would want to be friends with, I'm sure," Severus continued pretending to be more interested by the book in front of him than by his new companion. It took a lot for the fifteen year old boy to pretend not to be interested in a pretty girl trying to make small talk with him - he still believed she might have been sent by _him_ -  "besides, I find it hard to believe you don't know anything about the Wonder Boy. Unless you were so thick, you were held back and you're only just joining Hogwarts."

His cold black eyes met wide, doe-like brown eyes. He expected her to huff away or, even better, run away in tears; instead, she giggled and smacked him playfully on the arm. "You're funny! I'm actually a transfer. I come from _Beauxbatons_ ," she said with a fake and affected French accent on the last word. "I spent there all of last year, but I was in Ilvermorny before that, so I have no idea who's who around this place."

She sat back, stretched her legs, and - as if on springs - tucked them under herself and turned to him. "Anyway, _you_ seemed nice, so I thought I would sit with you. And you were about to tell me your name. Oh! Do you like fudge? I've got some from my mum, she makes it, it is quite good. It's got bits of almond in it, if you like that sort of thing, and she made sure to send me with plenty." She opened the beaten canvas rucksack she was carrying, and took out a massive, carefully-wrapped block.

The girl was clearly going nowhere, so he shifted on his seat so he would be able to take a better look at her. Her hair wasn't quite blonde: it was a very sunny and light brown, and fell to her shoulders in soft waves. The freckles were barely a whisper over her cheeks and across the bridge of her small, crooked nose. Her lashes were thick and black - maybe she dyed her hair? - and her lips were thin and wouldn't stop smiling, showing her slightly snaggled bottom teeth.

She wore Muggle clothing - snug, high-waisted denim trousers and a battered sheepskin jacket over what looked like an olive shirt - and looked like no one he'd seen in the castle before; so there must be some truth to what she said about not knowing anyone in the train. Something inside him was tickled by the Irish lilt in her voice. Her accent reminded him of his family, but in a good way. Perhaps in the only good way he could be reminded of them.

He gulped - discreetly - and suddenly felt quite grateful that his complexion meant he was unable to tan or blush … or not often, at least.

Sweet Circe, he was in trouble.

"Sev! There you are! You didn't come looking for me this morning, what - " Lily Evans looked quite happy to find her best friend, then confused to find him with a girl - a very pretty and smiley girl that looked very interested in her friend. "Oh, I didn't know you had company."

"Well, now that you do, you should come sit with us! I was just asking _Sev_ here," she gave him a pointed and playful glance, "what his name is, but he won't tell me. But you seem to know it. Are you two mates, then?"

"We've been mates for a while, we're from the same town," Lily laughed as Severus sighed in exasperation because she knew her friend hated having his reading time interrupted. "I'm Lily Evans, and his name is - "

"Severus Snape, I'm perfectly capable of introducing myself, thanks," Severus knew because of how hot his face felt that it was very close to the colour of Lily's hair. He finally shook hands with Dorcas, who smiled her snaggletooth smile at Lily. 

"Nice to meet you, Lily and Severus. I'm Dorcas, I've just transferred to Hogwarts," she offered Lily quite the generous piece of fudge she broke off from the enormous block she held, wrapper torn, on her lap. "Do you like fudge? Take some, I've got plenty! My mam makes it, it's got almonds in it."

 

* * *

 

**Hogwarts Castle; July 15th, 1995**

 

"Have we secured a new headquarters for the Order, then?"

Albus nodded. "Sirius has offered his family's home for our use. We still need some time to make it Unplottable, and of course, we'll need a Secret Keeper. I can trust you to convince Kingsley to keep the Ministry off of his back?"

Alastor Moody didn't seem to be fully appeased. "Yes, Albus. But I'm afraid there's another matter at hand," he said.

Reclining back on the throne-like chair, Albus examined the Auror through his half-moon spectacles. "I have a feeling I know where this is going. But please, by all means," he gestured towards the chairs the Auror should choose from. He sensed this conversation, and the missing guest that was yet to arrive, would take some time.

"'Where this is going' is here: none of us trust that bastard Snape," the battle-scarred wizard spat angrily. "Why you still vouch for a marked man, I will never understand, Albus. He's enamoured with the Dark Arts and no better than Lord - You-Know-Who, in my book."

"He's proven where his loyalties lie," he explained. "His _true_ loyalties, Alastor. And you can't deny that his … affinity … for the Dark Arts has been nothing if not useful to our cause."

"You never did tell us why he switched allegiances," Alastor stated simply. "We know, because you tell us, that he is trustworthy - but we don't know _why_ , Albus."

"And why does that matter?"

"Because that greasy, slimy bastard is a master Occlumens! What if his motives for joining the Order have changed? How would we know? How can we know he's not turned on _us_ this time, Albus!?"

There was a glint in his blue eyes. "I will explain everything to you, but I'm afraid I can't until our other guest joins us. I wouldn't worry, but it's not like her to run late. I should ask Molly Weasley how she enchanted that grandfather clock of hers, it would be quite useful for the Order," he chuckled to himself, busy cleaning his spectacles as he made small talk. "Should I call for some tea while we wait?"

Moody's eyes, the real and the fake one, stared at Albus in confusion. He knew the man was a genius and that every single move he made was carefully calculated, but every now and then - as anyone who interacted with Albus Dumbledore, at some point or another, would - he worried his friend had finally crossed into the threshold of senility.

They were appeased by the sound of the Headmaster's office opening. "Sorry I'm late, I got a bit held up back in Hemel Hampstead," Dorcas said apologetically as she made their way towards them. "Portkey problems. As usual, the French and American delegates couldn't find common ground."

Albus nodded in amusement. "Ah, yes. I do remember the American delegates, and know first-hand how unreasonable the Rappaports can be. Is Vivien still their delegate, then?"

Alastor huffed impatiently, his fake eye whizzing about unfocused. "We can chit chat all you want later, but if we could please stick to the matters at hand?"

Dorcas turned to face him with a small smile and a hint of cheek in her voice. "Well, hello, _Professor_ Moody. It's been some time," she offered her hand. Alastor shook it with the suspiciousness so characteristic of him.

" _Auror_  Alastor Moody. I'm sure I would remember you if we'd met before," he replied gruffly.

"Oh, no, we've met before. Just watch," she smiled. It confused the Auror, but not Albus, when she took a couple of steps back and with a _snap_ of her fingers -

"Merlin's damned beard," Alastor muttered. His fake eye was fixed on the woman before him and comprehension dawned on his face when he realised who she was.

"… _She_ is how you've kept Severus under control all these years? Why you know he can be trusted?" Albus nodded slowly in response. He could see it now, Dumbledore was not insane or senile, far from it: he was guile personified, a magnificent bastard if there ever was one.


	4. Terra Incognita

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1995, Dorcas' only choice is to leave Severus without one.

**Hogwarts Castle; October 25th, 1975**

 

Of all the places in the world where Severus had imagined himself being, the Ravenclaw common room had never been one of them. It was almost the complete opposite of the common room of his house: a star-painted ceiling towered above them, airy and brightly lit. Books filled the walls, and sunlight bounced off the bronze banners and well-polished furniture. What it lacked in warmth and cosiness, it made up for in grace and elegance. Remove the questionable reputation and shadows from Slytherin, and you would find the two Houses were not so different.

Lily had struggled with the riddle - _"at night they come without being fetched, and by day they are lost without being stolen"_ \- but ultimately, the eagle had complimented them on team work and let them in. The sound of music upon entering the common room caught his attention -

_Well let me tell you 'bout the way she looked, the way she'd act and the colour of her hair …_

"Wow, isn't that The Zombies? I've not heard that song in ages!" Lily seemed to be quite impressed.

They must have charmed some appliance to play music, which wasn't uncommon, but someone listening to Muggle rock in Hogwarts? They were intrigued.

Charity was already there, sitting with a cup of tea on her hands and a wide smile when she saw Lily and Severus. "Look at us, looking like a proper International Wizarding Conference," she quipped and hugged them both tightly. "Dorcas is getting ready, she'll be a minute."

"She promised to let me wear one of her dresses today, just point the door and I'll join her," Lily spoke like a girl who could barely contain her excitement, so Charity grabbed her hand and they sped off to Dorcas' room in a fit of giggles.

_But it's too late to say you're sorry; how would I know, why should I care?_

He noticed the turntable sitting on a table and walked up to it. His eyebrows nearly reached his hairline: a Linn Sondek LP12. He calculated that it would take him two summers of pub work, plus an apprenticeship if he could convince Slughorn and Dumbledore, before he could afford one. And someone in Ravenclaw owned one **and** liked Muggle music, he noted with a slight pang of jealousy as he ran a long finger along the edge.

"It's a song by The Zombies, they're a Muggle band. Song's a bit old, but I quite like it," Dorcas suddenly appeared next to him, all apologetic smiles as her small hands carefully lifted the needle and removed the 7-inch disc. 

"I quite like it," he tried to hold back a smile but felt the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

"We could listen to some more after we come back, if you want." There was a strange flutter inside his belly, quickly stopped by the sight of the three witches before him.

"You're really going to Hogsmeade, the only entirely Wizarding village in Britain, dressed like _that_?" Severus eyed his friends disapprovingly. Charity rolled her eyes at their overprotective friend. Lily was taller than Dorcas but the long-sleeved, floral print tunic dress the smaller witch had lent her was still a lovely fit, the dark teal contrasting against her dark red hair and cream-white skin. Dorcas had settled for high-waisted denims and a baseball tee-shirt that hugged her curves a bit too close. Thankfully, Charity was covering her own drop-waist plum dress under more traditional black robes. 

"It's not like we're the only ones that use Muggle clothing," Charity shrugged.

"But you look - " He struggled with what to say next.

He had overheard Mulciber in the Slytherin common room the previous evening: older Death Eaters would be recruiting in Hogsmeade every Saturday the students were allowed a visit, with Antonin Dolohov in charge. The rumours in the common room were that he had a habit of pursuing young women - Muggle or witches, it didn't matter, usually unwilling but nothing Obliviating and Confounding couldn't sort out.

He had the feeling that Muggle clothing on beautiful young witches could be seen as a target on their backs. On the other hand, Lily and him had managed not to fight since their arrival about his friendship with "that crowd".

Besides, the Wizarding world had not been completely isolated from the Muggle world's women's liberation movements. He knew that any suggestion that they were dressed in a way that would attract unwelcome attention would get him a variant of the Bat-Bogey Hex to the crotch. 

Because of that, Severus took a deep breath and chose to omit the information. He could be a coward sometimes but stupid, he was not.

"You look very lovely," he gave them a polite smile.

"So, should we go to The Three Broomsticks first, then?" Dorcas suggested. "Dirk and Davey said we could meet them there."

Lily and Severus shared an uneasy look. Neither of them wanted to run into Potter and his friends, who had made of The Three Broomsticks their main haunt since they were first allowed to Hogsmeade. Sirius was now particularly nastier towards Severus, and Remus' position as prefect was unsurprisingly useless.

"Maybe we could try somewhere else before the pub?" Lily smiled sweetly at her friend and squeezed his shoulder.

"What about Honeydukes?" Charity suggested.

"Could be worse. At least it isn't Madam Puddifoot's this time, and we can get a couple of Sugar Quills."

"What's Madam Puddifoot's?"

"Oh, right - so it's this twee little tea shop …"

Hands deep in the pockets of his robes, the chatter of the three girls became static to him as they all made their way to the gates. All he could hear inside his head was the song Dorcas had played in the common room, over and over, with a warm feeling in his chest. It chased away the self-consciousness of being a Slytherin boy surrounded by three witches from the other houses.

He didn't notice he was being watched by two groups, different as they could be from each other, but both just as dangerous to him.

 

* * *

 

**Heathrow; December 6th, 2008**

 

Severus wished they could take a Portkey, instead of traveling the Muggle way. _Fuck the Ministry for having such tight controls over them_ , he thought. Portkey sickness, supposedly more intense when travel was international, would have been infinitely better than stony silence for the better part of ten hours.

Silence wasn't a stranger in their relationship. Their favourite pastime, on those weekends when they could afford to leave work aside and they didn't feel like going at it like rabbits, was to sit on the couch together and read in silence. Hermione would lie on the couch and place her legs on his lap. There were contented little sighs, some stretching, a pause every now and then to kiss and talk about what they were reading. 

That hadn't happened in nearly six months. Hermione had reassured him that everything was alright, but he knew there was something troubling her, and it was driving a wedge between them.

The evening before heading to London, Severus had walked upstairs with the intention of helping Hermione make their bags. She was well past done, effective and organised witch that she was. Instead, she was already preparing for bed.

"We're travelling light, I see," he nudged towards the two cabin suitcases by the door. Hermione smiled sheepishly. "So, no room for a ten-gallon hat, then?"

"Oh no, I forgot about souvenir space," she gasped. With a chuckle, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his nose in her curls.

"We can get them something small. Keychains and the like. We can leave those hats behind. Hell, only one for Teddy and only if he asks. I'll even wear it on the way back, so my witch doesn't have to bother charming the suitcases," he pulled her closer and moved his hands to the small of her back. Overwhelmed by the soft vanilla scent of her lotion and the natural cream of her skin, he stroked her sides gently and made a move to kiss down her neck.

Her eyelids closed with a soft sigh, responding to his touch. The tips of his fingers made her shiver when he ran them gently up and down her spine. He kissed her gently, not wanting to pressure her, as hungry as he was for her. It had been the first time in weeks they had been so close and intimate. He never knew if it was his tongue at her lips or the tent of his erection or the groan that bubbled from his throat, but suddenly she pulled back. Her skin was flushed and she was panting, and he could smell her need, but her posture was distant.

"I think we should just go to sleep, love. We have a big day tomorrow." She couldn't even look him in the eye when she said this. Nevertheless, she accepted the small kiss on her forehead, and he considered it a small mercy. She had never rejected him before.

Hermione clutched his hand as the plane started down the runway and he came back to reality.

"It's okay," he said softly. They looked at each other. The nerves of flying for the first time made them forget about the wedge they had been feeling between them. She smiled and shyly curled into him as much as the narrow seats and armrests would allow.

He didn't know what was ahead, but she was here _now_ , and for now it was enough.

 

* * *

 

**Hogwarts Castle; August 4th, 1995**

 

Albus had summoned Severus to his offices. Some of their more sensitive meetings and planning had started to take place in the Head's office, as opposed to their actual headquarters. He expected Kingsley and Dorcas to join them, somewhat, but was still displeased that they did.

He felt he was on his spy role every waking moment now, and from the little he'd gleaned since the Order had been reformed: Sirius wasn't as universally trusted as he had been eighteen years ago. It wasn't a worry about his loyalties. It was rather the fact that twelve years of unjust imprisonment, plus a summer of hiding, were taking the expected toll on the man's sanity and patience. He concluded this from the new focus of their conversation: _What to Do About Dorcas Goulding?_

He had a few suggestions, of which defenestration was the most immediately accesible possibility; but bit his tongue as he poured himself some coffee and listened to them discuss job placements.

"I can secure a position in the Ministry for Dorcas, it shouldn't be too much trouble," Kingsley replied.

"Excellent. Remember: she has been working - "

"At the International Confederation of Wizards, American seats, aid in the Transport Regulation Committee. _She_ can speak for herself. Pass the jam, love, if you don't mind?" Severus quickly handed her the jar of strawberry jam, not saying a word to her.

They hadn't seen each other since their reunion three days ago, when she wanted to explain to him why she had left him out of the blue thirteen years ago. Now she was in the Headmaster's office, eating slice after slice of toast, as if this was a time before …

Their eyes met briefly and her cheeks flushed. He knew she'd called him _love_ absent-mindedly and out of habit - a habit that had a bit of a harder time dying than the rest, like her fondness for sweet spreads on toast, he was sure.

What was worse, he had reacted to it as if it was a time before December, 1981.

 _So that's where she's been all these years. Or, at least, the last few. Cunt_ , he thought with as much anger in his inside as he could. Better to get those feelings out of his system. It might help any ideas he could have about poisoning her jam go away.

"It would benefit us greatly if I could be placed in the Floo Regulation Panel. My father had some unfinished projects regarding the Floo Network, so I'm sure acting like I want to pick them up would help me secure a better position and more protection. Plus, they'll be watching Grimmauld's fireplace closely. If I'm there, Kingsley and I can double-team - he keeps the Aurors away by giving them false leads, I keep our headquarter's fireplace as low as possible on the monitors' priority list," she licked off a stray bit of jam on her thumb and palmed the crumbs away from her robes. 

Albus paused to gather his thoughts behind steepled hands. "Discretion would be essential. Sirius has always been reckless, and now he is getting restless. If we can manage that, the best thing would be to never mention this to him."

"I agree with Albus. I can keep the Auror Department off this case and distract them, but it will be no use if Sirius is taking advantage of our protection," Kingsley added, helping himself to some toast before Dorcas would do away with it. He crossed glances with Severus and they shared an impossibly rare moment: both exasperated at the same two people, both feeling sympathy for the other because it was their burden to bear.

"Very well. I see no reason to deal with Sirius, anyway," she could have sworn she heard Severus holding back a scoff. "Are you sure you won't be having any breakfast, _sweetie_?"

"That is kind of you, but you know I don't have the appetite you do in the mornings, _dear_ ," he replied curtly.

Kingsley finished his still-too-hot cup of tea and rose to leave. He wasn't much of a gossip, but he had overheard their row three days ago, and had figured out enough from that conversation to know this could devolve quickly into a domestic. Kingsley had no wish to stick around for _that_ shit-show.

"Right, I should get back to the Ministry. I will try and talk Madame Edgecombe about the very brilliant, overqualified witch that is dying to work with her." Kingsley grinned at Dorcas' groan and eye-rolling. "You have to lay it on thick with that woman. Pompous and underqualified as she might be, she's the connection we need."

The Auror shook hands with the reluctant couple and the Headmaster, and they watched him disappear into the cold, green Floo flames in the Headmaster's fireplace. Before he had a chance to leave - to his chambers, to continue licking the Dark Lord's boots shiny, it didn't fucking matter as long as he was miles away from her - he felt Albus' warm and tight grip on his shoulder.

"Excellent, now we have some privacy! I do believe that it is time to discuss this … most peculiar situation." With a small smile, he sat back on his chair and looked at them with a vaguely amused expression." You two make quite the handsome pair. I don't think I have ever told you that, have I?" His smile widened as he spoke.

Severus had been mostly silent, so far. His lips a thin angry line, he began to speak. "I will continue honouring the agreement we made, but I see no point in keeping up the charade of acting as a married couple."

He was surprised that Dorcas agreed so readily. "I don't, either, to be honest. I'm not in the same situation I was then, Albus. I can continue serving the Order now that I have a life of my own, so this just … isn't necessary." He looked at her quizzically, and her eyes looked full.

Albus peered at them from behind his glasses with that damned all-knowing glint in his eye. "Severus, I believe you mentioned something on our first meeting about wives being given the Mark?" 

"Only Elise Nott, to keep Theodore from being marked. She convinced Bella an older, willing Theodore would make for a more loyal Death Eater. Drusilla Zabini is also, for the first time, being courted by the Malfoys. Other than that, business as usual." All three people understood what _the business_ was: other than Bellatrix and Alecto, women were not expected - and, they suspected, welcome - among the Inner Circle.

Dorcas brought a hand to her mouth. Severus had introduced them to those women years ago, when they were newlyweds. Elise had been the younger Theodore's nanny and the older Theodore Nott's paramour - they must have married since. Drusilla Rosen's opinions on blood purity and Muggles were well-known, but she had always been denied joining the Dark Lord's inner circle. If it was because of the her first husband's mysterious death when she was pregnant or because of the colour of her skin, they never really knew.

Back then, they had been told by the men in the Dark Lord's inner circles that "their women"'s strengths lied elsewhere, and she knew exactly what it meant: _pop out many healthy and worthwhile children, indoctrinate them, have them join as foot-soldiers the moment they're of age,_   _to be cannon fodder or sycophants, it didn't matter in the end_. But it looked as if all that was beginning to change.

"But he's what, fifteen? He isn't even of age - " 

"It wouldn't be unheard of. Mulciber took the pledge the summer before our fifth year, even if he wasn't marked until he was of age. But to _actively_ recruit women … "

"He has realised he needs to change his strategy. With Karkaroff fleeing and Bartie Crouch … well, he needs to fill in those gaps and double his forces." With a defeated sigh, Albus added, "I should have seen it coming. In the Order we have been no … different and we know this, unintentional as it were."

It took longer for Severus and Dorcas to realise what Albus already knew. "They'll be trying to recruit me, too," Dorcas slumped slightly on her seat. With a sigh, Albus nodded.

"I do believe that Severus' position as a spy makes you a more attractive target than other wives. It could be a risk, but we can turn it into an asset."

"But I can hide, if it comes to it," she protested, "and it's not even like this is a done deal, is it? We don't know for sure that they're so much as thinking of me as a candidate."

 _Looks like I'll be called "love" a lot more often, from now on,_ was his last thought of anger before the resignation. Severus felt the bile rise in his throat. Nonetheless, he accepted this deal as he had accepted the several bad deals he'd made before: not liking it but not complaining about it.

"These aren't creditors, Dorcas. Do you think, given your _association_ with me, that they won't move everything to find you? That they _can't_? And that, when they do, you won't be - " he stopped when he saw the terror in her eyes: _threatened, tortured, vanished, killed_.

"I can go back to the States. I can hide there for some time, help remotely."

"You told us yourself, they have been reaching out to similar organisations in America. You know they're not as isolated this time." He couldn't help the note of panic in his voice.

"Dorcas," Albus reached out to hold her hand, "if you go to them out of your own free will, it would be to our advantage. It certainly will spare you." 

With a small, sad sigh, her eyes were lost to the view beyond the windows. "I have no choice, do I?"

A small part of Severus - the fifteen year old friend, the eighteen year old boyfriend, the twenty one year old husband - wanted to reach out and comfort her. She looked so cornered and vulnerable, like she did at the end of their sixth year. But he was the thirty-five year-old estranged husband. Long gone were their friendship and those unspoken, close and immaterial ties of their bond. Other than acting on honour and vows alone, he didn't know how to react.

"We are going to need a cover story for your … time away. We need to come up with it quickly and it needs to be air-tight." he said flatly. "Our options aren't as limited as we - " he hissed in pain and lifted his forearm to his chest.

"You're being summoned," Albus said matter of factly. "Take the Floo back to Spinner's End, then Apparate from there. We will continue this discussion later." The grip of the older wizard on his shoulder was still firm, but oddly reassuring.

"Be careful, Sev," Dorcas lunged for a quick hug at the last minute. He didn't hug her back, but nodded at her before disappearing into the green flames.

It took Dorcas less than a minute after the flames had died to drop her façade of helplessness and anguish. She looked quite pleased with herself. "How did I do? Pretty great, huh?"

Albus suppressed the fear he was beginning to feel for the woman, who he would always see as a girl - _his_ girl - and looked at her with apprehension. None of them knew what they were getting into, least of all Severus, and couldn't know just how dangerous a situation they couldn't fully assess would be until it happened.

"Be careful, Dorcas, please."

* * *

 

 **A/N:**  I needed some time to decompress from a very Hellish start to the month, before I could roll up my sleeves and continue this story, which has been mad fun to work on!  
I still lack a beta reader, so if you'd like to see where this is going and stop it from turning into a dumpster fire, do drop me a line through my Tumblr: [hidingfromsight.tumblr.com](hidingfromsight.tumblr.com). There is only payment in gratitude, I'm afraid.

The idea of Charity being Severus' classmate and eventual friend was ~~shamelessly nicked from~~ inspired by [turtle_wexler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtle_wexler/pseuds/turtle_wexler). [A Light in the Fog](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14739003/chapters/34073199) is a thing of beauty and [The Poison Garden](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16780603/chapters/39378724) has been very interesting so far. Do click them links and read them stories!

The song quoted was _[She's Not There](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=it68QbUWVPM)_ , by The Zombies. It was composed a good 20+ years before I was born, so I have no claim there.

Will be thrilled if you take the time to comment; but already well chuffed to know you're reading this. x


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